


Let's Go Somewhere Far Away

by katabasis (aphorat)



Category: BUCK-TICK
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 02:46:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14392629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphorat/pseuds/katabasis
Summary: In which our heroes take a much-needed vacation, find liquor in unexpected places, and eat fusion cuisine.





	Let's Go Somewhere Far Away

**Author's Note:**

> File under: things that would never happen, but I wrote vignettes of anyway.

They call it a night early after the final show at Budokan and arrive at the airport earlier still, when the chill winter morning is dark and quiet. Atsushi is alert enough for the both of them and squares away their luggage with ease, immaculate in a simple black coat as he guides Hisashi to their terminal. The other man is bleary, barely awake; hand wringing the strap of his carry-on as they sit down to wait for boarding to begin.   
  
They board first, into the premium cabin where Atsushi takes the window seat and Hisashi sinks low into his own, taking out his headphones and a bottle of water that he drops into the cup holder. The singer shrugs off his coat and folds it up into his bag, unpacking a book and his reading glasses before giving Hisashi a sideways glance. "Okay," Hisashi mutters, fingers tapping anxiously first on the arm rest, then his knee. "Let's get this over with."   
  
"It'll be worth it, once we get there,” Atsushi replies, mild encouragement, but Hisashi just sighs and swallows down two large white pills, something to quell the worst of his anxieties as they wait for other passengers to board.   
  
"That's what I keep trying to tell myself," he says, but despite his doubts he's fast asleep before they've even taken off, sleep mask pulled down over his eyes and earbuds drowning out the roar of the turbines. He gets up to go to the bathroom and to eat a light meal, but other than that he's out like a light, snoring quietly in a way that makes the other man grin faintly behind the pages of his novel.   
  
The flight stretches on but it's smooth, and Atsushi finishes one book and is partway through another by the time he shakes Hisashi awake. "We're here," he smiles as Hisashi drags the mask away from his eyes and squints up at him, and they make their way through the airport and to the shuttle that takes them to their hotel. They arrive in the evening, a day in the past, and the time-shift is bad enough that they barely have time to take in their surroundings before they're shedding clothes and crawling into bed, one long arm hooking around Hisashi's shoulders.   
  
-  
  
Sunlight filters through the branches outside their window, but they don't wake up right away, too snug and well-rested beneath their white comforter. Hisashi finally stirs when he feels lips press first to his collarbone, then to the center of his chest. His eyes open to the sight of Atsushi's head, ducked down over his stomach before moving lower still, and his breath hitches around a yawn as he pushes himself up against the headboard. His fingers are in Atsushi's hair at once, twisting in sleep-tousled strands and holding fast, and when the other man takes him slowly into his mouth he groans unbidden.   
  
" _Fuck_ ," he says hoarsely as Atsushi's hands slip around around to his ass, canting his hips upward and urging him deeper into his mouth, and Atsushi hums quietly around him, fingers clutching greedily at soft flesh. He's lavish with his attentions, parting lean thighs and mouthing along the length of one before dipping back down to work him open with his tongue and his fingers.   
  
When the vocalist sits back on his knees and eases into Hisashi it's slow—hands roaming in long, fluid motions over one of the legs hooked around his hips, across the plane of his stomach and the dip of his collar bone where sweat collects and gives his skin a bright, damp sheen. They're flushed, warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the windows and by their movements, unhurried but with barely-restrained intensity, curving close against one another as moans and exhaled breaths spill forth and mingle between their lips.  
  
Afterwards Hisashi peels himself free of the sticky sheets and draws Atsushi to the bathroom for a shower, and it's longer still before they finally dry off and get dressed, curling up on the couch and discussing the day's itinerary. They don't expect to do much but wander, familiarize themselves with their surroundings; but the guitarist is quick to pull up a map of shops and nearby restaurants, and Atsushi is only too happy to follow his lead.  
  
They leave the hotel room shortly after noon when the sun hangs brightly overhead, but they're shaded by the encircling trees and the blue-tiled roof above them. Their surroundings offer a brilliant contrast of pink stucco and green foliage as they walk down the breezeway, and Atsushi pauses once they're halfway to the stairs, leaning the other man lightly against a pillar and kissing him, slow and sweet.   
  
-  
  
It's a surprisingly small island and they have time to make a few day trips to destinations outside the capital, Atsushi comfortable enough behind the wheel of a rented car as Hisashi serves as navigator. They head north first, stopping outside a food truck to eat huge steamed shrimp from styrofoam plates, seated on a bench beneath the sprawling canopy of a rain tree. It's cooler here at the North Shore, with clouds rolling intermittently up above them, and they eat quietly, looking out at the winding roads and distant, rocky shoreline.  
  
They eat quietly until Hisashi, flipping through his phone, lets out a crowing laugh and shifts closer to show his screen to the vocalist, who pauses momentarily to read before a grin spreads across his features. There's a shochu factory not far down the road, and when they return to Waikiki that evening, it's with several bottles of limited-stock liquor that they crack open not long after stepping through the doorway.   
  
They're both terribly hungover the next morning, but with airport regulations they wouldn't have been able to transport it home anyway, not without going through far more trouble than it's worth. They stick close to the hotel, ambling down from the lobby to a secluded beachfront, stopping for coffee and breakfast on the way. It's perfect out, warm but not sweltering, and their headaches subside with the caffeine, until finally they can manage without sunglasses and settle out comfortably atop the sand.   
  
Atsushi rolls onto his stomach with another novel, alternately reading and dozing beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and Hisashi stays crouched over his tablet, unable to put composition  _completely_  on hold before he finally switches to a newly-downloaded e-book. He nods off too, eventually, one hand settled over his tablet while the other finds the crook of Atsushi's elbow.   
  
-  
  
They strike up a conversation with one of the Japanese-American employees at the front desk, who urges them to forgo more traditional fare in favor of Mexican that evening. They heed his advice, finding themselves seated under the dimly-lit awning of a rooftop bar after sunset, and Hisashi is  _instantly_  delighted by the menu, which blends fresh island ingredients with fiery peppers and a generous amount of tequila.   
  
It's a good thing they had a light lunch earlier, because when they can't settle on one menu item each they order  _several_ , but their waitress is charmed by their curiosity and offers suggestions along with an endless supply of cocktails. They're halfway through a plate of tacos al pastor when Hisashi sighs, stabbing at the pineapple in his mai tai until it's a pulpy mess at the bottom of his glass.  
  
"I'm never going to be able to make something like this back home," he mutters, peering down at the spread of their table morosely. Atsushi offers a sympathetic smile, reaching over to pat his forearm as he sips at his aged Patron.   
  
"But you're very good at improvising," he replies, and Hisashi's had enough to drink that it makes his cheeks heat, just a little. Despite that, he browses Google throughout the meal in order to find where certain specialty ingredients might be found, just in case. Atsushi observes him, and is quick to order them both additional drinks as they wait for the final tab. Hisashi's is infused with enough chili to snap him out of his funk—his eyes are seldom so wide as he reels back after taking a swallow, coughing once and glancing owlishly over at the other man, who grins benignly as the waitress ducks away to hide her laughter.   
  
"You should've seen your face," Atsushi chuckles later, as they stagger back to their room, and quickly cuts off Hisashi's protests with a long, blistering kiss. He's still smiling when he finally pulls away and urges them inside their room, the taste of serrano sharp on his tongue.


End file.
